


Undeserved Comfort

by geekyjez



Series: Isii Lavellan [33]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Sleepy Cuddles, Solas Angst, cause that's just solas, poor dear, solas guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 10:38:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3064688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyjez/pseuds/geekyjez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Solas x Lavellan) Isii tries to comfort Solas, but he can’t tell her why he’s truly upset about Corypheus’s mysterious elven artifact. (Prompt fic. Set shortly after Ma Halamshiral.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undeserved Comfort

_“And the worst, that which Blessed Andraste must weep to see: All of it built on a foundation of slavery. While most nations forbid the buying and selling of slaves within their own borders, nearly everyone ships their people to the Imperium for sale, skirting the prohibitions against such atrocities, and feeding the Imperium’s endless hunger for bodies.”_

His eyes skimmed over the page once more, a hot rage building in his chest.

_“Bodies to fight the Qunari. Bodies to work the mines and the quarries. Bodies to build the palaces of the magisters, to sweep the crumbling streets and turn the middens and serve at the whim of their mage overseers.”_

This book told him nothing he did not already know. It told him of magisters and the Imperium, but nothing of their nature, nothing of their magic. He was searching for a reason – some explanation as to how a magister had been able to unleash the power of his foci. It should not have been possible. No mortal had ever accomplished such a feat. And the fact that he still lived…

 _This should not be._ And yet, it was. The sky was torn asunder, a false archdemon roamed the lands— all made real through power that this man, this _creature_ , should never have possessed.

_You handed your foci over to a slave-ruling Magister. You made this possible._

His fingers curled around the edge of the table, his nails scratching roughly at the wood as he snarled.

_Idiot. Idiot. Idiot._

He swept the book from the table with a roar, old paper fluttering and spinning before it slammed into the wall. He planted his elbows down, sinking his head between his hands, frustrated nails pressing hard into the base of his skull. He could hear those words again, the ones that had echoed in his mind, that chased his thoughts through the ages.

_You ruin everything you touch, Wolf. This will never change._

“Solas?”

Isii’s green eyes were wide with concern as he glanced up to meet them. It was clear she had come from her quarters – her nightclothes shifted, thin over her form as she moved, the tie to her robe only loosely knotted at her hip. Modesty mattered little in the dead of night when all others lay sleeping.

“The hour is late.” He said with a sigh, lowering his head once more. “You should be asleep.”

She did not linger by the doorway, quietly closing it behind her. Barefoot steps padded against cracked stone as she approached him. “As should you, vhenan.” He could feel the warmth of her hand on the back of his scalp, fingertips tracing over his skin. It soothed him, somewhat; the feel of her nails sliding down, grazing the nape of his neck in light, loving scratches. “What’s troubling you?”

“Go back to bed, sa’lath.” He muttered. “It is nothing.”

She ran her hands along the width of his shoulders, slipping down to his chest as her arms wrapped around him. He shifted to accommodate her as she nuzzled her face against his neck.“Solas,” she murmured. Soft. Warm. Loving. She planted a small kiss behind his ear. “Talk to me.” She whispered. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He let out a slow sigh, pressing the base of his palm into his tightened brow. He wanted the warmth of her, the comfort, but she couldn’t understand what was truly troubling him. “I…” He paused, trying to decide between a half-truth or a lie. “I have been trying to find more information on the foci – the artifact that Corypheus has been manipulating. The search has so far not been fruitful.”

Her arms tightened across his chest, her nose dragging softly against the shell of his ear. “Do not take it out on yourself, vhenan. You’re not to blame.” There was a cold weight in his stomach as she pressed another gentle kiss by his temple. “You’ll find an answer. You always do.”

He shifted uncomfortably in her arms until they fell away. He rose, busying himself with retrieving the book. He could feel her eyes on him. Studying him. Pulling away had only knit her concern deeper into her features. “I was…. I was trying to determine the nature of the blast, specifically.” He offered. “The foci are said to channel the power of the gods. Whether such beings ever existed is irrelevant. I believe the blast that destroyed the Conclave was likely an accident – the result of unlocking power that had sought release for ages.”

“Do you think the orb allows him to control the archdemon?” She asked, quietly working the thought over in her mind. Even in this, she was trying to soothe him. He knew that. She was trying to help him think things through. “If it is something that powerful, maybe it gives him that ability?”

He hesitated. “It is a possibility.” He said, stooping to pick up the tome, straightening bent pages with his fingertips. “Nothing in any lore connects my people,” he paused, “ _our_ people,” he corrected, “to the Old God dragons who became archdemons.”

It was not untrue. No such thing was ever written.

“Then what of Corypheus himself? What are the limits of his own power, without the orb?”

“Why ask me?” He snapped, defensively. “How should I know? There is nothing written, no tome I can find, nothing to explain this. How any of this is possible. _It shouldn’t be_.” He held the book in his hands, gripping the leathered binding, fingertips paled from the strained pressure. He did not lift his gaze to meet hers, but he knew from her stillness that she was watching him. He set the book down, his hands curling into fists, a glare fixed on the stone floor. “I never would have believed a Tevinter mage could unlock such a powerful relic.” He said, his voice lowering. Bitter. Snarling. “Clearly it enhances his abilities, giving him access to power he should _never_ have known.”

He glanced up to meet her gaze. There was confusion there. His anger appeared unwarranted. She was trying to understand it.

_No. Be calm._

He relaxed his features, slipping his mask comfortably back into place, his tone softening. “My apologies.” He said, brushing past her. “It is late. My frustration is getting the better of me.” He sank down onto the couch, hunched forward, his gaze downcast. “The blast created the Breach. This much I know must be true given the circumstances of its appearance. And the orb would prove a logical source for such power. What I don’t understand is how he could have survived.”

She crouched in front of him, resting a hand on his knee. Peering up into his face, she directed his eyes to meet hers with a soft hand to his cheek. “All will be well, vhenan.” Her lips slipped into a warm, sympathetic smile, her thumb dragging across his cheekbone. “We will figure this out together.”

He looked down at her, frowning. “You cannot be certain of that.”

“I am.” She murmured. “Because you are incredibly clever and I am incredibly stubborn.” Soft laughter caught in his breaths as he shook his head. She crawled forward, seating herself against his thigh, and he did not resist her embrace. He held her gently, resting his forehead against her collarbone as her hands teased a sigh from him. “We will stop all this.” She hummed, resting her cheek against his scalp. “Then we’ll face the fun part where we try to clean up this whole mess.” She added, idly running her nails against the nape of his neck. “But we’ll manage it. We’ll set things right. Make the world better than it was before.”

He pulled his head back, studying her face. “You truly believe that?”

She nodded. Her smile was warmth, purity, softness and light – the kind of smile he wanted to capture in his mind, the kind he would replay to himself in later days. She placed a hand on his chest, her fingertips toying with the leather cording of his necklace. “I have faith in you.” She whispered.

Those were words he had heard before, though only in a context which he loathed. Now, they sounded sweet. Melodious. There was comfort to be found there.

Her fingertips tightened around the cording and her smile deepened, pulling him closer. She kissed him when words were no longer needed, when they were no longer enough. The press of her lips was neither lustful nor flirtatious. Her flesh was nothing but tenderness, tasting of honey and cream and bliss. His hands slipped under her robe, but not out of hunger, just to fulfill the desire to hold her closer, to let himself sink into this moment and chase the guilt away with her warmth.

She had faith in him.

He only wished he could be the sort of man who deserved it.

***

Dorian was used to being the first person in the rotunda. While it wasn’t as if he sprang suddenly from bed each morning to race over to the library, he did find he was naturally inclined to rise before the others. It was no bother to him, really. It allowed him the freedom to move about Skyhold without catching suspicious glances as he crossed the courtyard.

There was a reason he often kept to himself in the library. And it wasn’t because of the thrillingly substandard book collection.

He closed the door quietly behind him, the scent of plaster still lingering in the air from another one of Solas’s contributions. He slowed, stilling as he passed the archway, a small grin shifting his moustache as he caught sight of them.

_Oh, Isii will hate me for this later._

He could imagine how her eyes would narrow as he teased her about the adorable pile of sleeping elf he was greeted by. Solas dozed on his back, Isii spread out on top of him, limbs entangled in a lazy embrace. Her face was tucked against his chest, her fingers delicately wrapped around that hideous jawbone Solas insisted on wearing. Her face was serene, content, a small relaxed smile on her lips. Despite the way her nightclothes were tucked salaciously high on her thigh, the two elves were the pristine image of innocence.

 _Aren’t the pair of you just precious,_ he thought dryly.

Dorian watched them a moment longer, considering his options, before quietly stepping back into the main hall.

***

Her sense of smell was the first thing that returned to her.

His scent reminded her of home.

Of damp earth in the forest.

Of herbs and warm fur and humid summer rain.

Her hearing returned next, lazily focused on the drumbeat of his blood before expanding, lifting, slowly exposing her awareness to the sound of voices humming above them, the shuffling of feet, the stirrings of Skyhold, awake and active.

She shifted her face against his chest, breathing him in again. She opened her eyes, slowly making sense of it all, her brain brushing away the haze as she recognized the rotunda. She frowned, feeling the blanket that was draped across her back, uncertain of how it got there. Solas was still sleeping as she lifted her head and she stilled, watching him for a time, not wanting to wake him with her movement.

There was something almost vulnerable about his face as he slept. In waking, there was always a lingering tension in his brow, a tightness in his jaw. It stayed there, even as he smiled, even when his face warmed with laughter. It hid beneath the surface, unspoken, connected to thoughts she knew he was keeping from her. But sleep melted it away. He looked content. Happy.

She unwillingly shifted, trying to stretch out the stiffness of her hips. He stirred, one eye lazily dragging open before its pair joined. He blinked down at her, confused for a moment before smiling drowsily, closing his eyes again. “Sleep well?” She murmured quietly.

“A little stiffly.” He replied through closed eyes, one hand languidly dragging against her back. “But it was well worth it.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to doze off.” She said, planting small kisses along the front of his tunic.

“I could have woken you if I had wanted to.” She enjoyed feeling the rumble of his voice against her lips and smiled, burying her face against him.

“This is sure to get people talking.” She said with a muffled laugh. She looked up into his face, meeting his eyes as he opened them again. “If people didn’t know about us before, they certainly do now.” She said, gesturing to the levels above them. She was sure they had onlookers even now as they spoke to each other quietly.

He stroked his thumb across her cheek. “Good.”

She hummed softly, turning her head to place a kiss into his cupped palm. “I could get used to this.” She said with a grin. “Waking up beside you.”

He watched her awhile, his face characteristically unreadable before a patient smile tugged at his lips. “Perhaps you will.”

It was enough of an answer for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Dorian will get that blanket back eventually…
> 
> The book Solas is reading is [Black City, Black Divine: A Study of the Tevinter Imperium _, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar_](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_The_Tevinter_Imperium_%28Dragon_Age_II%29)
> 
> Prompt courtesy of [Kreebby.](http://kreebby.tumblr.com/) Original prompt reads: "Solas is very frustrated about not finding the Orb yet, nearly losing his composure late at night. Lavellan happened to be walking by and goes in to comfort him. It works, and they fall asleep on the couch together. Dorian wakes up in the morning to see Solavellan asleep on Solas’s couch together."
> 
> You can find me at geeky-jez.tumblr.com - there, you can follow me and/or send me your own prompts. (If you do send a prompt and you're an AO3 reader, please let me know!)


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